


Greater Lights

by orphan_account



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Carey
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:11:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In her last meeting with Phèdre, Melisande feels a touch of the the knowledge that the Name of God inspires. Suddenly it's all too easy to imagine the number of ways their lives could have intersected. Spoilers up through Kushiel's Mercy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Greater Lights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brandixcyanide](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=brandixcyanide).



_They kissed, there in the temple of Asherat, all that lay unspoken between them ignited by the Name of God. _

_ Melisande, feeling only the barest fraction of the power that now coursed through Phèdre, distantly wondered anew at the younger woman's ability to bear such trials. _

_ Their lives could have traversed in a myriad different ways. This Melisande abruptly understood, as her prescient clarity achieved the sharp touch of the divine._

_Every possibility lay before her, bronze wings resounding through her skull. All the could be, all that had been, all that may be._

**.**

As Melisande took in the sight of her ward, she understood anew the guiding precepts of Cereus House, though Phèdre was not cast in the mold of that faction of that Night Court. On this night, the night of her first assignation, she was all untouched youthful vigor, confident in the undeniable knowledge of her loveliness. Any poet and philosopher who caught a glimpse would be inspired to rhapsodize on the transient nature of beauty. 

Phèdre failed to display any sign of anxiety. A lesser woman would be smoothing non-existent wrinkles in her gown, or tugging at her sangoir cloak (a most appropriate gift from Anafiel, Melisande acknowledged.) And yet, the younger woman was a student of a scion of House Shahrizai and, as such, she displayed no apprehension. 

"What do you think?" Phèdre asked, in the tone of someone anticipating only admiration. "I am well pleased." There was a harder edge to her voice, belying that simple statement, one that Melisande understood all too well. 

A sentiment that she ignored. "You look well, Phèdre," she said, kissing the girl on her forehead. Melisande lingered slightly, waiting until Phèdre closed her eyes, before opting to pull back. "Naamah's blessings upon you." 

Phèdre's self control slipped. "And Kushiel's too, I think," she said, endearing and aggravating in her resentment.

Melisande remained silent, knowing full well that Phèdre would speak her mind without prompting. 

"_You_ should be my first assignation." Phèdre was as quiet as the sound of a pen writing a clandestine letter. 

There it was. 

The accusatory gleam in Phèdre's eyes would remain an undiminished temptation. "And yet I cannot be," Melisande said lightly, "as the consort of your foster father. You are an educated woman, Phèdre. You know the law as well as I." 

Rejection was the cruelest cut of all. 

**.**

"'King Baudoin,'" her husband whispered in her ear, alone in her chamber, in the small hours of the Longest Night. "It sounds pleasant, does it not? Several months on, and it's still a most welcome phrase." 

"Yes, my love. Let us celebrate," she said, leading him to the bed. "It is the night for that."

Phèdre remained in the corner, obediently sitting upon a chair as ordered, hands folded demurely before her. Her eyes were wide as she took in the scene before her. Melisande would later deal with that twinge of jealousy. 

When Baudoin had taken his pleasure (sooner than was his wont, but the evening's celebrations had taken their toll) Melisande turned to Phèdre, flechette in hand. The adept was clad in a simple, almost sheer, white dress of the Hellene style, her hair twisted out of the way. Cloth and skin soon gave away in the wake of blades, blood soon following. 

"And who were you tonight?" Melisande asked. "I never thought to ask." 

"Phaedra," the younger woman said, the syllables scarcely making it past her lips. "The unfortunate woman of- of myth. Surely _you_ know the tale." 

"I do." When Phèdre stood uncovered before her, Melisande grabbed the girl's shoulder and turned her around. Unblemished skin and the tattoo of an adept of Naamah lay before her. She lightly traced the lines of ink with her blade, admiring both the artistry and Phèdre's unconcealed gasps of pleasure. 

"Joy to you." 

**.**

"I surmised you might find this interesting," Waldemar Selig said before exiting the room. Melisande, attuned though she was to the actions of every individual around her person, still found that her attentions were inexorably directed to the individual before her. 

Phèdre no Delaunay cut a rather pitiable figure. The months of deprivation and, likely, suffering had taken their toll to be sure. And yet the subtle defiant cast to her demeanor remained. Phèdre's soul, constructed with infinite care by Lord Kushiel remained untouched. Melisande Shahrizai could only give thanks to Naamah for that blessing. 

"Phèdre. So you survived indeed." Several steps forward, and the scarlet pinprick in the anguisette's eye came further into focus. This deceptively simple symbol called to Melisande's blood, struck her somewhere deep in her bones. She allowed herself to smile. "I am glad to see it." 

The younger woman raised one arch eyebrow before recalling the manners long instilled in her by Cereus House. Phèdre knelt abeyante before Melisande, looking up, dark hair spilling about her shoulders. "As ever, I serve you, my lady." She betrayed not even the slightest flicker of emotion; so impassive it was nearly an art. "You have always known that."

Melisande reached out one hand, and stroked the side of Phèdre's face. As an added kindness, she allowed her ring to dig into the girl's skin. Phèdre shuddered, but her eyes never left Melisande's face. "You are angry at me." It was a statement of fact. 

"And you are queen." 

"So it would seem." Mapmakers across the world would have to rewrite the landscape, fusing Terre D'Ange and Skaldia into one. This Melisande had done, through the force of her mind and the strength of her ambitions, following Elua's precepts as she knew best. 

"And the Cassiline?" 

"He's… gone." 

Phèdre was still watching her, her face a mask. Melisande withdrew one of her hands, and the woman at her feet let out a sigh.

"You may speak freely," Melisande ordered. "You were once Delaunay's, I have a healthy appreciation for your powers of observation."

"You would dare speak his name to me?" Phèdre's voice was soft and steady, but anyone could see the grief etched across her face. Even those without the Shahrizai ability to divine the fault lines and fractures across one's soul, could discern as much.

"I do." Melisande said simply. "And?" 

Phèdre lowered her eyes; dark lashes obscuring the scarlet mote. Melisande noted that she still wore the velvet necklace, though the end of it, where a diamond should be, lay hidden beneath her clothes. "Waldemar Selig loves you and your power. He thinks himself in command, but you are the true ruler here." 

Flattery or the truth? It was impossible to tell. 

"Very good. Please stand, Phèdre." Though phrased as a request, both knew it was not. Melisande titled her head forward, capturing Phèdre in a kiss. The adept stood still for the briefest of moments, before succumbing, loose-limbed and yielding in just the manner Melisande remembered. 

_And yet…_

One of Melisande's hands went to Phèdre's neck, lightly toying with the velvet cord, before pulling. Phèdre pulled back from the kiss, gasping, before Melisande released her grip. 

Phèdre's eyes displayed equal parts hatred and worship, as Melisande tugged the end of the necklace from beneath the folds of cloth. There, tied next to the diamond, was a tiny vial. It could be nothing but poison. 

"Oh, Phèdre," Melisande said softly, admiring the younger woman all the more. "A gift for the new king?"

"Love as thou wilt." 

All of a sudden Phèdre was smiling, and Melisande truly understood why Lord Kushiel had chosen her. 

**.**

Melisande came to meet Phèdre at the shores of her island. The courtesan had grown into a full maturity, certain of her place in the world. And yet, under the well-earned self-confidence, she retained the enduring vulnerability that only Kushiel's Chosen possessed. "Melisande." 

"Phèdre." The seaside wind tugged at her hair and gown. "Do you come here with the Book of Raziel? I am so honored by your trust" 

Phèdre did not look surprised, either at that revelation or the affectionately sardonic response. "You really do know all, Melisande. Even here, at the edge of the world." Her tone was teasing, but so much lay beneath it. So much. "No, I merely wish to talk to you." 

Melisande gestured to the town behind her. "Then let us talk." 

**.**

_ "I saw our paths crossing and re-crossing, the myriad paths of might-have-been. All the scenarios that might have happened, had events not fallen out as they did." -Kushiel's Avatar, pg. 640_

**Author's Note:**

> Most of this fic is inspired by a moment in Kushiel's Avatar when Phèdre envisions a number of scenarios in which she could have met Melisande. Each possibility was so intriguing that I felt the need to write a fic for each, from Melisande's POV. The last portion is wishful thinking, because I'd like to believe that Phèdre met with Melisande while on her journey to hide the Book of Raziel.


End file.
